


Worth the Songs That Brought Us Here

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, FBI Agent Will Graham, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26036173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: Two years after detective Will Graham had an explosive, short-lived affair with a psychiatric consultant lending a hand to the New Orleans Police Department, he's working as an agent for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit in Baltimore. He doesn't expect the trail of a serial killer to lead him straight back into the company of the man who broke down his every wall and then left him without a word.(Written for Unconventional Courtship.)
Relationships: Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 163
Collections: Unconventional Courtship





	Worth the Songs That Brought Us Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy! Just under the wire, eh?
> 
> For those who aren't familiar, **[Unconventional Courtship](https://unconventionalcourtship.dreamwidth.org)** is a challenge whereupon authors take an existing summary from a Mills & Boon novel or equivalently tawdry bodice-ripper and use it to pen a fanfic. Here is the (edited) summary of the M&B novel I used (which was, incidentally, _Hers to Protect_ by Nicole Disney):
> 
> More than just one night…
> 
> It must have been the heat and sensuality of New Orleans that drove police detective Will Graham into the arms of visiting psychiatric consultant Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
> 
> Their attraction was intense, but he knew Dr. Lecter’s past would keep him from pledging his heart. Still, he didn’t expect to wake up one morning and find him gone without a trace. Nor could he predict that two years later, he would be hired to protect the very man he swore never to forgive. And as hard as he tried to deny the passion that raged between them, Will came to realize that he couldn’t protect his heart.
> 
> Also worth mentioning is that I've taken liberties with locations from the TV show. I was trying to make the deadline so I didn't have time to dig up specific addresses and went with general neighborhoods based on minimal research.
> 
> Thank you Cece for the beta! Title is from The Avett Brothers' _"Four Thieves Gone."_

It took Will a second to realize that the distant ringing he was hearing was his cell phone and not the persistent, high-pitched tone screaming through his head as a result of firing a handgun less than a foot from his own face. He worked it free of his coat pocket, hands shaking, and thumbed it on as soon as he saw Jack Crawford’s name flashing across the screen, above a notification for one missed call from the same.

“Jack,” he said, wincing and shifting his phone to his other side when he realized he couldn’t hear anything in his right ear but that single shrill note. “I - ”

Jack didn’t let him finish, barking, “Where are you?” As though he hadn’t sent Will off with a list of every music store in Baltimore just that morning, with instructions to focus on any that specialized in the sale or appropriation of catgut strings.

“Chordophone String Shop,” Will said, “in Forest Park. Listen, Jack, it’s the owner, Tobias Budge. He’s our Cellist. He - ”

“I know,” Jack interrupted. “I need you to get over to Mount Vernon, right now.”

“I’m a little tied up here, Jack,” Will scoffed. 

“Then untie yourself,” Jack said. “I need you here. We’ve got a situation.”

“Well, I’m sitting on two bodies and a basement full of human remains and I think I ruptured an eardrum when Budge tried to garotte me fifteen minutes ago, so forgive me if your ‘situation’ doesn’t seem particularly pressing.”

Jack was silent for a taut second. “Are you alright?”

Will sighed, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose and bumping his glasses up onto his forehead in the process. “I’ll live,” he admitted, low and grudging.

“Alright,” Jack sounded, if not particularly happy, at least appeased for the moment. “Get forensics out there if you haven’t already, and head over when you’re finished. I’ll text you the address. And Will?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch your tone.” There was the imminent promise of official reprimand or worse the next time Will lapsed into sarcastic disrespect, regardless of whatever stressors may be triggering it. He had been toeing the line recently and they both knew it. If he weren’t the sharpest profiling tool in Jack’s arsenal, he would have been suspended after back-talking him on the Angel Maker case, and he wasn’t doing himself any favors by repeating the same mistake now.

“Sure, Jack. Sorry.”

Jack hung up without further pleasantries, and local law enforcement and emergency response rolled up a few short minutes later, with FBI forensics right on their heels. The chorus of wailing sirens set another wave of tinnitus ringing through Will’s head, and he spared a moment to have one of the EMTs check him over—perforated eardrum, just like he thought, but it should heal up in a few weeks without help—before hitting the road.

The address Jack had provided led Will to an elegant office building with a facade of golden-yellow brickwork. Will parked on the street, his battered little hatchback distinctly out of place amongst the small fleet of sleek, black FBI sedans and monochrome police cruisers lining the road. The door to the office was propped open in deference to the busy line of agents and officers coming and going like so many ants. Will spared a wave for Beverly Katz, who was directing a handful of trainees in FBI polos as they loaded a gurney bearing a black body bag into the back of a van, and then turned and followed a forensic photographer into the lobby.

The interior was just as stately, done up in soothing shades of grey with an array of black- and gilt-framed artwork adorning the walls. There were a couple of forensic clerks dusting the various surfaces for prints. Will could hear Jack’s low baritone rumbling from the other side of another open door, which presumably led into the main office. What Will could see of it promised an expansive—and slightly ostentatious—space, ringed with bookshelves all the way to the ceiling and a mezzanine that looked down into the office proper. 

Will ambled in, casting a curious gaze to the decor as he wandered over to where Jack was standing at the desk, addressing a man in a garishly patterned three-piece suit. His eyes traveled up from where the man’s hands were curled against the desktop in nervous fists—knuckles chapped and bloody with long, pianist’s fingers—past his broad shoulders, and settled on his face.

Will came to as stark and studden a stop as if he’d just slammed bodily into a stone wall.

The last time Will had seen Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he’d been spread across the decadent mattress of a penthouse suite in a hotel in the French Quarter with only the corner of a silk sheet preserving his modesty, murmuring sweet nothings into Will’s hair where Will was laid out atop him in a similar state of bone-deep satiation. The memory sank into the pit of Will’s belly and twisted itself into a cold, bitter knot.

“Will,” Dr. Lecter breathed, eyes wide over his bloody mouth. It was a small comfort that he looked just as surprised to find Will standing here before him as Will was, himself. Dr. Lecter’s neatly coiffed hair had fallen into his face and there was a split at the bridge of his nose, another on his lip, already swollen. Beyond his general state of disarray, he was the same man who had spent two weeks unravelling Will’s every defense and then abandoned him without a word.

“Dr. Lecter,” Will said, letting every miserable hour of wondering and wanting that had colored his days after Dr. Lecter’s sudden departure leech any warmth from his greeting.

“You two know each other?”

Will blinked. Just for a moment, he had forgotten there was anyone else around, which was exactly the unexpected reaction to Dr. Lecter’s presence that had drawn Will so deeply into his confidences all those years ago. He refused to fall into the same trap again. With some effort, he tore his gaze away from Dr. Lecter’s open, gobsmacked face, and tugged at the lapels of his jacket to give himself something to do with his hands that wasn’t crossing the room and adding another bruise to the collection the good doctor was already nursing. 

“We’ve met,” Will confirmed, in a brusque clip. He couldn’t bring his eyes any higher than Jack’s nose, unsure of what the other man might find in them if he did, but that was hardly uncharacteristic. He took a couple of steps to the side, placing Jack more firmly between himself and Dr. Lecter. From the way that Dr. Lecter deflated, the subtle attempt at enforcing distance didn’t go unnoticed.

“I had the pleasure of making Mr. Graham’s acquaintance a few years ago, in New Orleans,” Dr. Lecter explained. “A friend in the local police department invited me to offer some insight into a serial arsonist that was operating in the area, and Mr. Graham was employed as a detective at the time.”

“Small world,” Jack said, with an approving grin. “That’ll make this next part a hell of a lot easier.”

Will felt his shoulders rise up toward his ears as he curled in on himself like he was protecting his underbelly from a blow. He cast a wary glance in Jack’s direction and demanded, “What next part?”

Jack turned, with his hands in his pockets, and explained, “Dr. Lecter has, unfortunately, landed himself on Mr. Budge’s radar.”

Will’s gaze flicked over to Dr. Lecter before he could help himself. The other man was still watching him, dark eyes stuck in some hazy median between pain and awe. Will swallowed, and canted his head in Jack’s direction. “How’d he manage that?”

Jack opened his mouth, but it was Dr. Lecter who answered.

“Mr. Budge was acquainted with a patient of mine,” Dr. Lecter supplied, pushing himself up out of his seat and smoothing a hand down his vest. “Franklyn Froidveaux. He introduced us at a charity concert several weeks ago.” He shook his head, brow furrowing, and offered a little helplessly, “We only conversed for a moment, and Mr. Budge didn’t say much.”

“So, what?” Will replied, waspish. “He just saw you and took a shine to your glittering personality?”

The corners of Dr. Lecter’s mouth twitched with amusement, though he managed to maintain his placid expression of polite interest. “Is it so difficult to believe that infatuation could strike like a bolt out of the blue?”

Will’s stomach lurched, heart pounding painfully against his ribs, and he bared his teeth in a rictus, more sneer than smile. He shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his jaw, turning away from Dr. Lecter and striding over to one of the windows. He could feel the pendulous weight of Jack’s scrutiny oscillating between them. Will twitched one of the heavy red and white curtains aside, peering out into the overcast day.

Behind him, Jack sighed and asserted, “Whatever the reason, Budge saw fit to come here, kill Dr. Lecter’s patient, and make an attempt on Dr. Lecter’s life. To ensure that he doesn’t get a second chance, we’re assigning him federal protection.”

Will’s spine snapped ramrod straight and he turned to point a finger at Jack. “No.”

“Will - ” Jack started, but Will shook his head, stalking toward the door.

“No!” He cut his hand through the air, gaze fixed firmly in front of him. “Find someone else.”

“Special Agent Graham!”

Jack’s booming voice pinned Will in place on the threshold, like an insect speared to the velvet backing of a shadowbox. Even the handful of agents loitering around the room froze for a second before conspicuously turning their attention elsewhere. Will clenched his jaw, curling his hands into fists at his sides, and spun on his heel to face Jack, glowering down at the opulent rug spread across the dark wood floor because he didn’t trust himself to look the other man in the eye. He could hear Jack’s slow, even stride as he strolled over, the spit-polished toes of his Oxfords appearing in Will’s line of vision.

“It seems,” Jack said, low and calm, “that you’ve mistaken my order for a request.”

Will’s jaw worked. His fingers twitched. His face felt hot out to his ears, and he knew he was probably flushed a bright, unflattering red. Jack’s hand settled, big and domineering, on his shoulder, and Will’s stomach clenched with the desire to shrug him off.

“Allow me to clarify it for you,” Jack said, in that deceptively gentle tone. “You will escort Dr. Lecter home, you will ensure the security of the premises, and you will stay with Dr. Lecter until Tobias Budge is apprehended or until I see fit to relieve you, whichever comes first. Do you understand?”

Will heaved a short, furious breath through his nose and managed a shallow nod. Humiliation blazed behind his sternum, sticking thick and sharp between his ribs.

“Assuming,” Jack continued, turning to address Dr. Lecter, “that works for you, doctor?”

Will glanced up just in time to see Dr. Lecter nod, subdued pleasure in evidence at the corners of his eyes and in the tiny tilt of his mouth. “You could leave me in no safer hands.”

The laugh that statement pulled out of Will was a small and bitter thing, scorched thin and black with rage. Jack whipped his head around to pin Will with a glare. Over his shoulder, the arc of Dr. Lecter’s smirk curved just a little higher.

Will shifted so that he was standing perpendicular to the doorway and swung his arm out beside him, beckoning into the lobby. He forced himself to meet Dr. Lecter’s gaze and invited, “If you’re ready, doctor?”

Dr. Lecter inclined his head, dark eyes sparking with a banked heat that made Will’s stomach twist. He shrugged into a long overcoat made of soft, camel-colored wool and tucked a pair of leather gloves, only a few shades darker, into his pocket. There was a briefcase lying on its side next to his desk and Dr. Lecter dusted it off before grabbing it up and striding easily over to where Will was waiting for him. 

He stepped past Will into the lobby, so close that the curve of his shoulder brushed Will’s own. Will’s breath caught in a wild tangle at the back of his throat, rendered thick and sticky by the familiar citric spice of Dr. Lecter’s cologne. He closed his eyes and forced a breath, pointedly ignoring the smug satisfaction radiating off Dr. Lecter in syrupy waves.

Will gestured to his car once they broke free into the gauzy daylight and announced, “I’m up here.” He made it three steps up the cordoned-off sidewalk before he realized Dr. Lecter wasn’t following.

When he turned to look, Dr. Lecter had a set of keys dangling from his hand. He pointed over his own shoulder. “And I am parked in the back.”

Will shook his head. “No,” he said, wagging a finger. “Crawford says I’m not supposed to take my eye off you, and that includes the drive home.”

Dr. Lecter inclined his head in agreement. “I think, then, you had better come with me.” And he turned and strode for the alley along the side of the office without another word.

“I - ” Will started. “Doctor. Dr. Lecter!” He watched until the other man was about to disappear around the building, then swore under his breath and took off at a jog to catch up.

There was a suitably bourgeois Bentley in the lot at the back of the building, stark black and gleaming. Dr. Lecter tucked his briefcase into the backseat and then straightened up to peer over the car’s hood at Will where he was standing at the mouth of the alley, glowering with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Will,” Dr. Lecter said, clearly unimpressed by Will’s admittedly juvenile posturing, “I’ve had an exceedingly trying day. If you don’t mind, I would like to go home and get cleaned up.”

“Sure,” Will agreed, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the way they’d just come. “Car’s waiting right out front.”

“I have a perfectly serviceable vehicle,” Dr. Lecter protested. He held out a hand over the top of the car, palm up but with his fingers angled down to indicate the passenger’s side door. “Please, get in before I’m forced to leave without you. I don’t imagine Agent Crawford would be best pleased.”

Will jerked back like he’d been slapped, barking a fierce sound of offense. He scrubbed at his cheek and shook his head, stalking forward even as he snarled, “You know, doctor, you are _some_ son of a bitch.”

It was Dr. Lecter’s turn for affront, and he wore his indignation just as beautifully as he did that earlier smug pleasure or any of a hundred other more tender emotions that Will had done his damnedest to forget. Dr. Lecter sucked his teeth and frowned, “I know that our...history is somewhat contentious, but that’s no excuse for such vulgarity, Will.”

“Special Agent Graham,” Will corrected hotly, circling around the front of the car to stand a spare foot off from Dr. Lecter and hold out his hand, open-palmed and expectant. “Give me your keys.”

Dr. Lecter blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“Your keys,” Will said again, tipping his chin to the items in question. “You want to take your car? Fine, but I’m driving.”

“I should think not.”

Will shrugged. Dr. Lecter was not as immovable an object as he liked to believe himself, and Will had learned to become an admirably unstoppable force since the last time they’d seen one another. “You’ve got two choices here, doctor,” he explained. “I drive, or you get to ride bitch in my hatchback. Standard FBI procedure. You’ve experienced a traumatic incident, and as the agent assigned to your care I’m under legal obligation not to allow you to operate heavy machinery while the effects are still fresh.”

It was a technicality at best, but Dr. Lecter didn’t need to know that. He stared Will down for a long second, brow furrowed and frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Then he sighed, straightened up, and said, “Very well.”

He lifted his chin as he dropped the keys into Will’s waiting hand and stalked stiffly around to the passenger’s side of the car. He yanked the door open and cut Will one final glare, adding primly, “Do take care with her, Special Agent Graham.” The title dripped like venom off his tongue. “I doubt very much that a civil servant’s salary would suffice to cover even cosmetic damage to a vehicle so fine as this.”

Will closed his eyes and clenched his fist around the keys to keep from throwing them straight into Dr. Lecter’s snide, beautiful face. The sound of the car door slamming was balm enough to reel him back from the frothing edge of anger to his usual slow ebb, at least.

Will hooked his fingers over the door handle and cast a silent prayer to any entities in earshot that Jack caught up to Budge sooner rather than later. If he didn’t, Will might be tempted to murder Dr. Lecter himself.

Or worse—he considered grimly, as he opened the door to a billowing wave of Dr. Lecter’s cologne that left his mouth dry and his pulse pounding—to fall back into bed with the insufferable son of a bitch.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank y'all for reading! I may have to revisit this concept in a longer fic, because it's a surprisingly fun one!
> 
> If you'd like to scream with me about Hannigram (or Tristahad, which is currently occupying all of my brain) you can find me on Tumblr @thrillingdetectivetales or on Dreamwidth at the same.


End file.
